


Golden delicious

by LostinFic



Series: Mercier x Betty oneshots [3]
Category: A Passionate Woman (TV), Spies of Warsaw (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: The French countryside and crisp autumn air. A proposal and a forbidden fruit.(Basically seasonal fluff that degenerates into porn because these two lovebirds can't keep their hands off each other)





	

**Author's Note:**

> CW: talking about wedding and children; alcohol
> 
> Based on several prompts from my followers on Tumblr:  
> asmilelikestarlight: Betty and Mercier's first Fall at his estate in France?  
> lizziea2: Maybe Betty can help Mercier rediscover a love for the season he's lost over time being involved with the war.  
> tardisfangurl: Apple picking?! Perfect excuse for cozy wool jumpers, cuddling against the chill, a walk aroud the outdoors with the dogs, and Betty’s homemade apple pie! :D  
> Anons:  
> She picks an apple for him, the Adam & Eve of it all  
> Mercier returning home in autumn to find Betty asleep on the couch in one of his cozy sweaters waiting for him?  
> Proposal in the woods? All the coloured leaves!  
> Calvados distilling season? [...] and sweaters ofc!

The warm smell of buttery crusts and cinnamon welcomed Jean-François into the house. Three pumpkin pies were cooling on the kitchen counter. Even when he spent months away from France, there was always someone taking care of the estate in Boutillon. Marie’s cooking held a special place in his heart. But knowing these pies had been cooked by Betty held a different kind of pleasure. Her first stay in Paris had proved stressful, but she had adjusted remarkably well to the countryside.

 

He called her name but only the echo of his own voice answered him. He walked through the kitchen to the living room. He found her asleep on the couch. She was wearing one of his sweaters, the fawn-coloured one in cashmere. The sleeves curled over her hands, and her nose was buried in the collar.

 

He didn’t wake her up right away. He sat on his haunches and ran his fingers lightly through her hair. Soft Betty. Sweet Betty. She stirred a bit— she was a light sleeper.

“Ma belle?”

She startled.

“Shh. It’s me.”

“Hey.” A big, sleepy smile spread on her lips.

“I see you stole another one of my sweaters.”

“Borrowed… kiss me.”

She had a funny way of asking as if she thought he was really upset about the sweater. She needed reassurance and he was only too happy to indulge her.

“It’s beautiful outside, do you want to go for a walk?”

 

She stood up, her movements sluggish from sleep. She traded his sweater for a green cardigan over her dress and put on hiking boots she’d found in the house. Jean-François changed out of his suit— he’d spent the morning with his notary, going over the Mercier estate’s legal business— and put on tweed trousers worn soft by the years. His cable-knit jumper smelled of the oak cupboard in which he kept it and of Betty.

 

Yards of field and forest surrounded the stone country house and its outbuildings. Jean-François took Betty’s hand and guided her towards a path they had yet to explore together. The sun shone bright and warmed the air. One could almost believe it was summer, but the light was all golden hues, unmistakably autumnal.

 

The fox hounds followed, snouts twitching up in the air and ears perking up at the slightest rustle of leaves. They ran back and forth between their master and the woods, alerting him to every rodent’s or bird’s presence. Jean-François carried his rifle, just in case, but didn’t intend on hunting. The dogs grew more excited yet quieter as they neared a clearing. He signaled to Betty to remain quiet, and they stalked closer until a deer came into view. The graceful animal ate a few leaves. Jean-François watched Betty instead, her eyes and mouth opened in wonder. He loved that about her; she didn’t try to conceal her enjoyment unlike most people these days who valued cynicism.

 

The deer bounced away, and they resumed their stroll through the woods. Betty carried a basket, stopping along the way to pick smooth oyster mushrooms, chestnuts in their prickly case and fragrant herbs for concoctions. The women in his family had done the same thing. Combined with the smell of muggy soil and dead leaves, it brought back a flood of memories.

 

“I used to love fall,” he said.

“Not anymore?”

“It’s been many years since I could enjoy it.”

Her smile was soft with understanding, no need to explain, and he raised her hand to his lips.  “I love you.”

“Me too.”

 She wrapped her arms around his waist, neither minded that it slowed them down. 

 

The path led them up a hill. In front of them, the earth stretched in a gentle slope covered with vineyards in neat rows. Yellowing vines contrasted with the purple of lavender fields. The white steeple of a tiny chapel stood out amongst the red and orange trees.

 

“Does this all belong to your family?”

“Yes, the fields are ours. But over the years-- or centuries actually-- the profits have gone more and more to the villagers who take care of them.”

“Is that what you had to discuss with the notary?”

“Among other things.”

 

They descended the path to the fields. Maurice was hard at work and Betty had many questions for him that Jean-François translated.

 

“ _Dites, c’est la nouvelle madame Mercier alors_?” Maurice asked.

“ _Bientôt_.”

The worker beamed and shook Betty’s hands. “ _Félicitations. Bienvenue dans la famille.”_

She smiled back politely, glancing at Jean-François for an explanation. He didn’t translate right away.

 

Maurice’s son came running and started playing with the dogs. He wanted to take them with him to the marshland for duck hunting. Jean-François allowed it.

 

After bidding Maurice goodbye, they walked the length of the vineyard towards a small orchard.

"So, what's that the man said, when he shook my hand?"

“He wanted to know if you were the new Mrs. Mercier.”

“Oh. What did you say?”

“I said you would be soon.”

“Am I now?”

“Of course. I want to marry you and take care of Mark as my own and have more children.”

 

Although they had already spoken about this, her silence made him nervous. He touched her temple as he usually did to inquire about her thoughts.

 “You’ve already been married twice,” she said.

“So? It’s not like winning a bronze medal. I love you as much, more even.”

“I rushed into a marriage with Donald and I cheated on him. And he has to be the one asking for a divorce, that’s how the law works, I dunno he’ll want--”

“Betty?” He stopped walking and faced her.

“Oh, I dunno how to explain, I’m not good with words… I want to be with you, Jean-François.”

“But?”

She placed a hand on his chest, hooking her nails in the stitches of his sweater. He caressed her cheek, patiently awaiting her answer.

“A wedding ain’t gonna change that, won’t make me stay with you more… I want to marry you, I do, and have children but I’d like to be my own for a little while longer and enjoy this freedom we have.”

 

She walked away, towards a tree, leaving him to ponder her words. She put her basket down and filled it with apples. He shook his head fondly. Ironically, this kind of behaviour was the reason he wanted to marry her. She'd abided by society's rules and morals for years, fighting her true passionate nature. He wouldn't have her go back to that life. 

 

She picked an apple and offered it to him, prompting laughter.

"Wha'?"

“You want us to live together, outside of the bonds of marriage, sinfully, and you offer me an apple like Eve to Adam.”

 

He took a big bite out of the fruit, and they both knew it meant he agreed. Of course, there was a practical side to getting married, matters he’d examined with his notary: travel papers and inheritance. But that could be discussed later.

 

He ditched the apple core and kneeled on the leaf-covered ground.

“Betty, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife eventually?”

She giggled. “Yes.” She cupped his cheeks, the loving look in her eyes felt like sunshine on his face.  “I want to be with you forever.”

 

He picked her up in his arms, hugging her tight, swaying from side to side. He buried his nose in her curls. She laughed even more, holding him just as tight. She tilted her head, seeking his mouth.

 

True, he had been married twice before, first as a young, innocent man, then shaken by the atrocities of war and clinging to a sliver of hope. And now, it would be as a mature man who’d found his match. He and Betty had been through so much already, it wasn’t rushing headlong into marriage. She may be the third, but, most importantly, she would be his last wife.

 

What started as a small peck lingered and deepened. Their lips moved firmly together. She tasted of apples. With arms wrapped around his neck, she curved her body against his. A warm pressure built low in his abdomen. After the kiss, her eyes were dark and her cheeks rosy. This well-kissed, slightly dazed look of her, made him yearn for more.

 

She guided him deeper into the woods, and leaned against a talk oak tree. 

“What is this?” he asked.

“Dunno.”

She bit her bottom lip, looking at him through her eyelashes. He knew that expression on her face, innocent but not really, he hardened at the mere sight of it.

 

He loved that she didn’t shy away from her desires. He’d always enjoyed sex— not just sex but giving women pleasure— and Betty was the perfect partner.

 

He placed his hands on each side of her head, the bark rough under his palms. With hooded eyes, he gazed at her until she closed the gap between their mouths.

“Temptress.”

She had the nerves to laugh at this. She shivered when he slipped his hand under her dress, up along her thick stockings. At the top, the exposed skin of her thigh was cold, and he rubbed his palm over it. But it was not the friction she craved.

“Here is a reminder of why you should marry me,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ll keep you warm at night.”

“What else?”

“And I’ll keep you warm here.”

She moaned at the first press of his fingers to her knickers. He felt wetness through the cotton.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Is this for me?”

“Only you.”

A growl rumbled in his chest, but he kept teasing her with light caresses over the fabric.

“If you want to convince me to marry you,” she said, “you’ll have to try _harder_.”

She giggled at her own pun, and he rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation. Laughter died to her lips, replaced by whimpers as he slipped his fingers under her underwear. She was warm and wet.  He loved that wanton way she had of looking him straight in the eyes as she parted her lips and arched her hips. 

 

She gripped his shoulders, nails digging through wool. With his free hand, he squeezed her breast. His own desire became insistent, and he found partial relief by pressing himself against her hip. Her squirming made him grow harder.

“Please,” she begged.

“What do we say?”

“... _Je t’en prie_.” Here she was blushing, more embarrassed about speaking French than about their behaviour.

He pumped his fingers faster.

“ _Plus_. Please, I need you.”

“Come for me now, ma belle, and I’ll have you after.”

 

A keening sound escaped the back of her throat, and more wetness coated his fingers. His thumb found her clit. She hiked a leg over his hip, allowing him to go deeper, and soon she clenched around him.

 

He held her up, peppering kisses across her forehead and cheek. Once she could stand on her legs, he smoothed down his clothes and hers. Then, he walked away.

“Where are you going?” She ran after him.

“The house. I am not giving you children before we get married.”

 

They crossed the woods without appreciating its beauty. Anyway, the sun was setting and a chill had risen in the air.

 

At the house, Betty went to the bedroom right away to put in her diaphragm. Meanwhile, Jean-François added logs to the fireplace in the living room. The wood crackled and popped. Its dry, smokey smell filled the room along with its warmth. In the cabinet beside the mantel, he found a bottle of Calvados— apple brandy from Normandy— and two glasses.

 

Footsteps came in, followed by the shutting door. When he turned around, Betty let her robe slide down her body to the floor. The colours of sunset bathed her skin.

“Beautiful.”

Without a word, she helped him get undressed too, lifting the jumper over his head, unbuttoning his shirt, unbuckling his belt. Everywhere, her fingers lingered, followed by a kiss where skin had been revealed. She caressed his chest, kissed his stomach. Featherlight nails teased his hips and thighs. His cock twitched against her belly but remained untouched.

 

They sat on a blanket on the floor, and he offered her a glass. The spirit coated their tongues and throats, spiced their kisses. Betty sat astride him, not quite close enough. Still they continued to drink and kiss, skin to skin, lips venturing to other parts. He marveled at this level of intimacy and trust: naked and accepting every touch, every desire, every fantasy.

 

He dipped a finger in Calvados, coated her nipple with it and licked it off her. He repeated the action on the other breast, pulling the hard nub between his lips and teeth. Betty’s giggle came out tipsy and throaty. She rubbed herself against his thigh and scratched his scalp as he licked and nipped her breasts with more hunger.

 

She dragged her hands down his stomach. When she stroked him, he inhaled sharply. He leaned back against the couch, drinking more Calvados as her hands moved nonchalantly up and down his member. His moans came out as languid as her strokes. Wasting time was decadent in itself, luxurious and lecherous. It suited the season. After the vivacious days of summer, came the quietness of fall as nature prepared for its winter slumber. And so did their lovemaking. Hushed and unhurried. Sweat beaded on their skin like fog on the windows.

 

A first pearly bead of arousal appeared, and Betty caught it with her tongue.

He gathered her hair in his fist. “Keep going.”

She opened her mouth wider, deliberately snaking her tongue along the ridges of his length.

 

In the mirror above the fireplace, he had a perfect view of her bum, high in the air, and of her spread legs revealing glistening pink.

 

Betty sucked harder making him close his eyes and throw his head back. His grip on her hair tightened. _So_ _close_. She released him with a wet pop, returning to teasing licks. A mirthful look betrayed her intention.

"All right, get back here."

 

She straightened up with an excited giggle. He grabbed her hips, tugged her down his legs until their centers met. He held her close, immobile, his throbbing erection nestled against her warm folds. He breathed deeply, calming his arousal.

 

Betty rolled her hips.

“Impatient girl.” He bit her lower lip.

“You’re as impatient as me.” She rolled her hips again and made him groan to prove her point. 

He kissed her hard, one hand on the back of her head, the other on her arse, pushing her closer against him. Her nails raked down his back as she rubbed herself against him. Her breaths came in short pants in the crook of his neck. It wasn’t enough friction to get them off.

 

“I want to try something,” she whispered.

“As you wish.”

Betty turned on her knees, straddling him with her back against his chest. She guided his cock to her entrance and lowered herself gradually, enjoying every inch. By now she was so slick and wet, that he moved easily within her. He held her down in place and rested his forehead on her shoulder blade, letting out a shaky breath.

 

When he released her waist, she started moving in that leisurely rhythm they’d established. She rose almost completely off him and thrust down.

 

He quite liked this position. The arch in her back allowed his hands to roam the length of her torso. His fingers spanned the width of her rib cage, caressed down the curve of her waist and dipped where they were joined.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Oh, god! So good.”

 

She threw her head back. He cupped her throat, teeth marking between neck and shoulder. Gripping her hip, he encouraged her to move faster, bucking up to meet her thrusts. Her moans sounded desperate.

 

“Ma belle…” he said in a strangled voice.

A slight push on her shoulder, and she knew what he wanted. She settled on all four, ready to let him take over.

“No, I want to see you.”

With her legs, she encircled his waist, and he gazed into her eyes.

“Marry me.”

“Make me scream your name.”

He laughed as he kissed her. He twined their fingers above her head and pushed in her, rough and deep, yielding to the pleasure they both craved.

 

“I’m beginning to think you only love me for my body,” he joked afterwards, as they lay in each other’s arms in front of the fireplace.

“Yes, and for your jumpers and your house...”

“Hey!”  He slapped her rump playfully.

She hugged him closer, cradling his head to her chest, caressing his hair. “I love everything about you.”

“As do I.”

 


End file.
